


Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop

by GlennRhee



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), Twd - Fandom
Genre: AU, Abused Daryl, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Apocalypse, Coffee Shops, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes Feels, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes Smut, Daryl In Love, Daryl and Feelings, Inspired by The Walking Dead, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlennRhee/pseuds/GlennRhee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl is the owner of a quaint and prospering coffee and donut shop, and he totally doesn't have the hots for the officer that comes in every morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling Hard For You

It’s 6 am on a Monday morning, and Daryl stands at the counter gearing himself up for the morning rush. His white button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with a pattern of light baby blue pinstripes that you could only see from a few feet away. He takes his dark green apron, draping the neck hole over his head. It’s like clockwork, but it’s perfection to him, he needs it to be perfect. The way he wraps and ties the back snug, and parts his long dark hazeled strands of hair, or as some of Daryl’s co-workers called his mane; “the color of over-roasted beans.”

Daryl glances out of the dimly lit window, the foggy morning dawn sunshine peeking through the little curtains that hung short from the shop’s windows. He sees them, business types in their suits and shiny shoes waiting outside, jiggling from foot to foot as they linger desperately to get their morning caffeine fix before they can start their working day.

Daryl’s been running his own business for a little over a year now. It was a gamble, setting up his own independent coffee shop in the downtown district and competing against the chain stores. Thing is, he knows his coffee is better; knows he offers a better level of customer service because it’s personal, and above all, he can deliver to any of the top flight firms within 20 minutes and always gets the orders right the first time. It took him 6 months to build up his customer base and now, after a rocky start and despite his brother telling him to jack it in and work at the family’s auto shop, his business is thriving.

It’s due in no small part to the fact he actually pays attention to his customers, knows their habits and their orders. Like now, the rugged guy first in the line, the one in the wrinkled suit and the shirt that’s not quite tucked in properly. He always orders a tall Latte, not too hot, with an extra shot. Or there’s the lady lawyer, always wearing a shiny blouse with loud heals clicking against the linoleum. She never says anything more than a cursory, “Hi.” grabbing her Grande iced vanilla latte with soy milk on ice and leaving with her Versace purse in a puff of Marc Jacobs, the Daisy Collection.

And above all, there’s him.

Daryl still doesn’t know his name, and generally just refers to him as ‘hot sheriff guy’ which totally doesn’t do him justice at all. Apart from the fact he wears a brown jacket. And is hot. Really hot. Like, if Daryl could thirst over one guy, and make that his signature “ass-in-the-air-for-you-” kinda guy, it’d be him. He’s the kinda guy Daryl jokes to himself about writing his number on the officer’s cup. Daryl thought about this guy every morning, to him he was the hottest average guy ever. Two blue eyes, two day stubble, dark brown hair that sticks out every which way with curls popping out from his ears and his hair reaching only a couple inches before his shoulders, and a voice like sandpaper scraping over rocks, that would be him.

And also, he’s way out of Daryl’s league. He comes in every morning, orders a lightly hot glazed donut, and a hot Americano (with just a splash of whole milk and a dash of sugar) in his instant hard on voice and sits in one of the comfy chairs on the right, opposite a slightly taller, black haired man with a cut glass Southern accent and rough manners. The hot sheriff had impeccable politeness, but not the same was said for his partner who joined him almost every other morning, and ordered a fresh hot Americano. He’s heard them talk about a whole manner of things, from their lives to women, (which, the hot sheriff didn’t seem to talk nearly as much about as the brute sitting across him) to rock n’ roll music, and back to work. When the handsome officer speaks, it’s completely in a different contrast to his friend, which Daryl notices gets him some name calls and a few jokes at his expense. He discusses politics, riveting european culture, wild stories of poetry. It’s intimidating, and totally, utterly beyond Daryl’s comprehension. Daryl’s world is full of 1 am diner food, classic rock, and the rides to work on his polished up motorcycle. The two just don’t mix.

Daryl’s been mooning over him for months, staring at him from behind the cardboard coffee cups, watching as he holds the mug of coffee and sips quietly while his friend talks. Daryl’s seen them coming out of the shop across the street, and knows that they’re work colleagues but can’t help the feeling that they’re something more too. It gives him a spark of jealousy in his gut; something that he knows is completely irrational but still, it gets to him every time they look at each other. 

This morning, while Daryl’s finished up rallying his usual customers like a sheep herder, he reaches for the coffee stained rag on the espresso machine, and rubs off his roughed up hands from bean juice. 

“Hey man,” A voice calls from behind him, and it’s that same low toned voice he knows all too well. Fuck me with that voice he’s thinking, that gravelly as hell and just-rolled-out-of-bed voice, he wants to reach over the counter and grab him by his collar and shove his tongue down his throat, and beg him to fuck him, but of course, that’s fuckin’ lunacy.

“One Do-”  
“One Donut and one tall Americano, hot with'a dash o' sugar n a splash of whole milk” Daryl mumbles a bit, too shy to be comfortable, but having broke through his absurd nervousness, he’s pretty proud of himself for attempting to flirt with his crush.  
“That’s it.” The guy says tiredly.  
“Hard day?”  
“Somethin' like that, yes.”

Daryl ducks under the counter, searching through his racks of beans, looking for the ones he likes to use only for his crush. 

Daryl lifts up, grunting as he uses his knees as support and reaching up to the coffee machine. It takes him a matter of seconds, but the whole time Daryl was squinting to the man opposite of him, looking down at his wallet, skimming through awkwardly as he waits for his coffee and donut.  
“Here ya go.” Daryl sets down the mug, and smirks a smile he hopes turns on the officer. He’s being so obviously flirty, and little does Daryl know, the sheriff loves it.

Daryl slips on a throw-away glove to grab the donut from behind him, surrounded in a glass container with almost a hundred different kinds of donuts, all of which he makes, by himself, late night up until morning.

“Perfect, thank you,” he says, and the officer smiles. It’s only a small one, but Daryl notices it all the same and his heart gives a little flutter. Jeez, he truly is fucked. 

He takes his money, rings up the register and hands him a receipt before moving back to dishes duty.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, with periodic pauses so Daryl can cringe with lust and try to fit his whole knuckles in his mouth. It’s stupid, totally stupid. He’s never been like this with anyone; he knows he’s pretty good looking, and has had no problem getting hit on by girls, but he’s never found himself attracted to anyone, and anyone is literal. His whole life he was brought down by his douchey older brother and father, messing his head up so much and filling it with such heterosexuality that he was pushed to being so undesired towards sex, he thought he was the only being to ever be that way. This guy, though, seems to make him lose all sense of rational thought. 

It’s while Daryl’s alone in bed that his thoughts take him over. He can’t help it. The way the officer looked at him, the way he smiled, that fact that Daryl knows his name or at least part of it now. During one of their morning routines, Daryl could over hear his buddy call him “Grimes,” but that couldn’t be his first name. Probably his last, because he always wore his jacket in a position that covered his name tag with his folded collar. Then he remembers he overheard him get called Rick while his buddy came in a few minutes late, calling him to make sure Rick got his order.

That’s it, Daryl’s too far gone into the night of loneliness to come back from this one.

He reaches into his boxers, gripping his hard cock and moaning as he begins to stroke himself. Just in his ripped sleeves t shirt with the print “AC/DC” on it, and his worn down cheap boxers, Daryl starts moving, slowly and perfectly turning his head side to side, moaning back and forth, fucking his own fist as he speeds up. He’s moaning, incoherent at first before his lips betray him. “Rick,” he moans, lips forming the nickname like they’d always known each other. “Rick.” He imagines him, completely naked and bending Daryl over the king sized bed, rubbing his erect cock between Daryl’s legs as a tease, and a tease he was. Daryl totally knew that there’s no way this dashing and handsome hot muscular ‘daddy’ was anyway shape or form straight.

He keeps imagining their hands touching as Daryl lets out a moan, a moan of submissiveness and absolute lust. Those lips, slightly chapped, begging to be kissed, licked and sucked. The gravel voice whispering, 'Daryl,’ and that’s it, that’s enough to have Daryl cumming over his fingers.

He pads to the bathroom, cleaning himself up and dabbing his boxers with hot sink water. When he’s all said and done and wiped off of sweat, he crawls back into his bed making sure none of his cum got on the sheets, and it’s clear to sleep now. 

His studio apartment was big enough to moan as loud as he wanted, but he constantly had apartment neighbors waking him up in the morning knocking on his door, asking if he could open up early “just this one time.”

He refused every time, lugging himself back to sleep. But this time, Daryl was undisturbed the whole night through.

He crawls into bed, fluffing up the pillow and pulling the thin blankets over him, as it got hot in the middle of June. Daryl dreams of two blue eyes and a small, shy smile.


	2. Will You Take Care of Me

The rest of the week passes quickly. Rick (because ever since last night’s remembrance, he’s calling him Rick in his head now) and his friend return once again the next day. Daryl’s a bit more shy than he is, never repeating back the order Rick gives him and in fact flinching at one point when he went to pay Daryl. Something awkward came over Daryl from last night, he almost felt guilty from it, he couldn’t bare to look Rick in the eyes after he secretly jerked off to thinking about Rick ramming Daryl’s asshole raw, fucking his brains out and Rick pulling Daryl’s hair back. Daryl could tell Rick knew something was off, as he sensed a bit of worry in Rick’s voice. _He pro’lly thinks he did somethin’ wrong. Fuck. Stupid stupid._

Before he knows it, it’s the weekend, and he puts all thoughts of work out of his mind while he and Merle go on a hunting trip. Merle’s back from a motorcycle convention after a few weeks, and Daryl wants to spend as much time as possible with his brother before he goes back. Not because he loves him, but simply because Merle would embarrass him and guilt him endlessly if he knew Daryl couldn’t stand him.

Monday rolls around, and Daryl’s sorting out the delivery while his co-worker deals with the lunchtime rush. When Daryl’s finished cataloguing the new stock, he joins the only other employee at the shop, who sometimes isn’t even there, since Daryl proves himself an expert at multitasking.

Daryl scans the leather seats planted throughout the quaint and aesthetically pleasing environment, looking for Rick and his friend. No sign of either of them.

“Dude,” The co-worker scoffs in a joking tone. “You’re so obvious. He’s not here.”  
“Who i’dnt?” Daryl feigns ignorance.  
“Hot Sheriff guy. He didn’t come in today.”  
“So.”  
“So, I can see you looking for him.” Daryl’s face turns bright red, manifesting his flirty acts.

“Ok, ok,” he says, turning to rinse out coffee mugs. They work in silence, while Daryl tries to think of the many different reasons Rick hasn’t come in. He could have a day off, or even be working away for a couple of days, maybe he’s had a lot of pull overs, anything was possible. It still didn’t stop the uneasy feeling in his gut, though. What if he’s gone somewhere else, found a better coffee shop? What if he’s gotten another job, away from here, and Rick will never see him again?

Daryl spends the afternoon trying not to think about it. Finally, half an hour before they close, at 10:30 the door opens and in walks Rick’s buddy, who he’s been having morning breakfast with every other day since the coffee shop has been open. Behind him is Rick, looking…well, looking awful. The sheriff’s badge is more skewed than normal, his shirt isn’t buttoned right, and his coat is only hanging on one shoulder. He looks like shit. Daryl thinks he could be drunk at first, but then he takes a look at his face, and sees the pale clammy skin.

Daryl hears Rick say something weakly, and his friend shakes his head. Rick sits down, and the other officer comes to the counter. “One medium Americano please. Do ya have any uh what's it called, h-herbal tea?”

Daryl starts to list off what they have. “We got, uh, some berry teas, some black tea, lemon, green tea, green tea with jasmine, oolong tea, whi-”  
“Oolong. He’ll have that one.”

“Comin’ right up,” Daryl groans. He’s tired and exhausted, seeing spots flash around when he rubs his eyes. He scratches at his chin scruff, and finishes making the tea to hand to his friend, but he’s not really looking at him. Rick is slouching in his seat, leaning over and looking ready to vomit. He makes the coffee, pours water on the teabag and hands them to the man who pays and takes them over to their seats. “Rick, drink this, bud. It’s tea, ‘sposed to make ya feel better.”

Rick looks at him, and Daryl can tell he’s not convinced, but he takes a sip anyway. After that, Daryl’s distracted with cleaning up, shutting off the coffee machine, wiping surfaces, putting chairs on tables. When he’s finished, he notices with a little annoyance that Rick and his friend have gone.

It’s alone in the shop now, all his co-workers have left, and Daryl locks up. Keys jingling in his apron pocket, he takes it off and hangs it up, revealing his “Minor Threat” hard rock t-shirt, and swaying his arms gently back and forth as he heads to the back room to his bike. He’s about to turn the lights off and go home, when he hears something coming from the bathroom. He walks over, opening the door quietly and cautiously. Daryl was always used to Merle fighting his battles for him, but that didn’t mean Daryl got his ass kicked sometimes. He picked up a few things on his own after Merle left, but still, he was rusty. Daryl had given up the sad life of bar fights and teenage rebellion, he wasn’t sure what he’d have to put up with in the stalls awaiting him. 

_“There’s that damn noise ‘gain.”_

A low moan and quick heavy breathing. Thinking it’s a couple fucking in the vacant stalls (it’s happened before.) he walks over and bangs loudly on the door. “Come on, guys, get’ta fuck outta here.”

There’s a heaving sound, and then the flush of the toilet. Daryl opens the stall door from where the noise is coming and is shocked to find Rick, leaning over the bowl, throwing up. 

“I’m sorry,” he says in between retches, “I’m so sorry. I’ll…I’ll pay for any mess just please, give me a few more minutes.”

Daryl’s frozen solid for a few seconds, unsure of what to do until his instincts take over. He walks over to him, bends down and puts a hand on his back, rubbing in circles as Rick leans over and throws up again. And again. 

“Hey, uh, it’s alright, it’s ok,” Daryl says, trying to sound reassuring. Daryl’s voice was tired and gravely, sounding rough and low. He was such a shy individual he kept clearing his throat to make his voice a bit more clear, but he had to remain focused on this man hurling in his shop’s restroom.

“Oh god, I feel so awful. I’m so embarrassed,” Rick manages to hack out.  
“Don’t be. Really, don’t be. Can’t help bein’ ill, right? You been to a doctor?”

“No. I haven’t really had time and I guess I thought this kinda thang would pass. I managed to get through most of the day but then the sickness started.”

He reaches over the bowl and vomits again.

“We need to get ya home and int’a bed. Where’s yer friend?”

“Shane? Oh I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t even know how long I’ve been in here.”

Some friend, Daryl thinks. Shane had obviously abandoned him and gone home. “Stay here, I’m’onna get ya some water,” he says.

Daryl goes and gets him a glass of water from the kitchen sink, forcing him to drink it all so at least he has something to throw up, and he won’t get dehydrated. After all, he's losing lots of liquid and if there's one thing Daryl knows from endless nights of crying alone in his apartment from random spots of depression, it's that you gotta replace the water you lose from crying. Guess you can apply that to vomiting.

After a few minutes Rick seems to settle enough to stand up with Daryl’s help. Rick places his hands on the wall of the bathroom stall and hurriedly latches onto Daryl's arm for support. Daryl always wanted close contact with Rick, but there's no way he thought their first would be like this. 

Daryl walks them outside, with Rick's one arm around Daryl's waist and his other on Rick's own stomach, clutching it in case he hurled again.

He puts his two first fingers in his mouth to whistle for a cab and flick his hand out to grab its attention. 

“Here, Ill get this cab to take ya home, but are ya sure you ain't too bad? Should I come with?” Daryl sets Rick inside the cab like a baby in a crib.

“Can you uh- ride with? But no it-it's okay, you got a store to look after. Thank you, Daryl.”  
“No I can follow, I just, I jus’gotta lock up and I ride my bike to work, can't ‘xactly take two people with ya. Are ya gonna be okay waitin’ for me? I jus’ don't want ya to overheat n blast yer dinner all over this car. What's yer address?”

Rick exchanges his address, and Daryl nods with affirmation as he shuts the cab door, turning back to lock up and leave so he can take care of the clearly sick man that almost vomited all over his coffee shop.

It’s only when Daryl finished locking up that he realizes he called Rick by his name. _Fuck. He prolly thinks I'm some serial killer._

It's not long after that Daryl gets to Rick’s apartment, and he is secretly relieved about that because, crush or no crush, no one vomits in his shop. 

He mumbles to himself the apartment number as he gets inside the spacey elevator, rumpling up his leather jacket and parting his hair from his eyes in an effort to look decent.

_Christ the man is pukin’ his guts up, come on._ his mind can’t help but think of the chances he has with Rick, he’s now made it inside his apartment complex and soon into his own home, so his mind begins to wander.

He leaves the elevator to the fourth floor, knocking on the door, and checking his perimeters side to side for anyone watching. He doesn’t want people to accuse him of anything, after all he is in a roughed up leather jacket with windy hair, inside a very expensive looking apartment with class and social expectations.

Rick jiggles the doorknob before opening the door, relieved to see Daryl actually showed up. “Come on in, I didn’t actually think ya’d show.”

It’s big, intimidatingly so. Daryl figured it would be big, but even so, he never expected it to make him feel so…uncomfortable, and small. He leads Daryl to his corner couch and lays down. “In the second bedroom,” Rick croaks, “There’s an ottoman with blankets inside.” He points to his right, and Daryl follows, entering the second bedroom which is about as big as Daryl’s living room. He finds the ottoman, pulls out the blankets and sets about covering Rick entirely. He’s shivering, aching with the effort of throwing up, so Daryl tucks him in tightly before getting him another glass of water.  
“Seems a bit odd huh, helpin’ me even though I barely know ya,” Rick says quietly.  
“S’nothing. Yer a regular, can’t help but notice yer a mess.” Daryl chuckles, joking to lighten the mood.  
Daryl leans down, dabbing Rick’s forehead with a cold rag, looking into Rick’s clouded eyes. “Name’s Daryl, by tha way.” Daryl says eventually.

“I know. Name tags prove useful sometimes. I've also called you Daryl a'couple times.” They both chuckle, now the mood has gotten better, and not so much confusion is left between them.

“Daryl?” Rick groans.

Daryl can’t help the shiver that courses through his body when Daryl says his name.

“Yeah? Ya ok?”

“I’m ok. I just…thank you. You ‘idn’t need to do this—I’m sure you’ve had a hard day and ya wanna go home without dealing with some ill customer, but I wanted you to know, that I’m very grateful.”

Not just some ill customer, Daryl thinks idly. “No biggie,” he replies. “You want me ta stay?”  
“No, no I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep.” Right at that moment, Rick yawns loudly.  
Daryl eyes him. “Well, we’d better getch’ya to bed then, right?”  
Rick shakes his head. “I’ll be ok here. I don’t want to be sick on the bed sheets—they’re brand new, they’d be ruined.”

“Right, ok. Well, I’m’onna go then, but seriously,” he grabs a pen and piece of paper, and writes down his telephone number, “if ya need anything at all, gimme a call. Any time.” Daryl clears his throat, doing that raspy low voice he always does when it’s quiet around him.  
“Thanks, Daryl. You really don’t needa do this.”  
“What can I say,” Daryl shrugs, “yer a good customer.”


	3. Getting Friendly

Wednesday, mid morning, and Daryl’s beat. After he left Rick, he got home, got berated by his co-worker for being late, only to have him totally change his tune once he told him why he was so late. His co-worker had tried well into the night to get him to spill some juicy gossip and details, despite Daryl telling him there were none. 

The whole day went by fairly quickly, and before he knew it it came time to close up shop again. Thoughts filled his head of a few nights ago when he had to prevent a whole mess in his coffee shop as he cleaned up the counters and locking things up, and heading home to his quaint little apartment. He barely slept though. Just seeing Rick, actually knowing his proper name, seeing his apartment…Daryl tossed and turned, his brain conflicted. He wants to see more of him, wants to get to know him and knows he actually has a chance but on the other hand, Rick is so clearly way out of his league maybe he’s just fooling himself, but Daryl was up the entire night with the thoughts of the officer.

The next day, Daryl coasts through the morning until lunchtime, when he sees the familiar face of Shane come waltzing up to the counter. At first he’s surprised Rick isn’t with him until he remembers, and then Shane’s ordering his Americano and smirking at him.

It gets to 1pm, and Daryl finds himself wondering how Rick is, whether he’s feeling better. He curses himself for not taking Rick’s number, thinking that he could have at least called to see how he was. His eyes fall on the shining glass window that nested the donuts, and he has an idea. “Glenn?”  
His co-worker is in the middle of steaming a pot of milk. Glenn was really the only other co-worker there, since Daryl never relied on anyone for help, but would occasionally need assistance with fussy customers.  
“Yeah?”  
“You ok to mind to shop for an hour? I got an errand to run real quick.”  
Glenn smirks. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a hot, sick guy in an officer’s outfit who you totally went home with last night?”  
“Shut up,” Daryl says, willing himself not to go red. “Just answer the question.”  
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You go play nurse.” Daryl pointedly ignores Glenn’s grin as he pours milk into the tea, puts on a lid and grabs his leather jacket over his traditional white button up shirt.

He drives to Rick’s apartment, convincing himself that no, he’s not being a stalker, he’s just seeing if the guy’s ok is all. It’s totally not a weird thing to do. And if he remembers the door code to get into the apartment then well…he’s just got a good memory.

It’s once he’s outside Rick’s door that he thinks maybe the whole idea is stupid. He gets the fear as he’s about to press the button, but then does it anyway because he’s never been a guy that doesn’t do something because it scares him. He waits, listening intently to the shuffling inside before the door finally opens. Rick stood there in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, which Daryl has to beg his eyes not to avert down to Rick’s dick. His hair is messier than normal, eyes puffy with tiredness but no longer red. He’s not as pale, either, which is a good sign.

“Daryl?” He croaks.  
Daryl holds up the cup. “I thought…since ya wouldn’t be comin’ in for coffee and a donut, I thought I’d bring it to ya. Totally on the house.”  
Rick stares at him for a moment, just long enough for Daryl to start to feel uncomfortable before smiling and letting Daryl in. The blankets are still on the couch, but there’s an empty plate on the coffee table with some breadcrumbs on it, meaning Rick has at least managed to eat something. Daryl hands him the donut.

“You really didn’t need to, Daryl,” Rick says before taking a bite.  
“S’no bother. I figured ya’d still want it, and it gives me a chance to check on ya and if ya haven’t spewed up a lung or any other vital organ.”

Rick chuckles into his drink, and Daryl doesn’t think he’s ever heard a nicer sound. “So, how are ya feelin’?”  
“Better. Much, much better..thanks to you.”

Daryl looks down at the floor, slightly embarrassed. “Well, I gotta whole lot’a experience of my dad. Old man just won’ call a doctor e’en when he really needs one, so I know a few things about convincin’ people.”  
“I’m glad,” Rick replies, and Daryl looks up to meet his eyes, staring at him earnestly.

“All part o’the service,” Daryl says, smiling. They stay like that for a minute or two, just looking at each other and smiling, before Daryl coughs. “So, there anythang else ya need? Anythin’ I can get you?”  
“It’s fine. I’ve ordered a few groceries online that should be coming tomorrow. Shane’s visiting later…”

Daryl snorts at this. Of course Shane would visit him. Figures. “…so no, not really. Unless…”  
“Unless…”  
Rick ducks his head, smiling again in a way that Daryl totally doesn’t think is cute because he’s not a girl. “Unless you want to pop by tomorrow with some more coffee? And maybe one of those lemon muffins you sell? I’ll pay, of course.”  
“Ya got it,” Daryl says, finding it hard to contain his joy. Another excuse to see Rick again. Awesome.

They talk for a while longer, about how it’s been in the coffee shop, how Rick’s sure the work is piling up while he’s away. He’s an officer, which is absolutely as entertaining as it sounds, but the money’s really good. Daryl talks about setting up the coffee shop, the risks of going into business on his own and how these are outweighed by the fact he absolutely loves his job, loves the customers, and loves meeting interesting people. Then, he pops the question.

“So uh, what happened that night when ya came in nearly pukin’ on my leather seats?” Daryl chuckles and looks down at his empty bag that carried Rick’s treats.  
Rick’s face grows red, becoming embarrassed with how vulnerable he was and how childish he acted, even though he couldn’t help it.

“Had a gruelly incident while at work..Some nutjob came in with blood all over ‘em, then just..whatever ya know, got gross real quick.” Daryl nods, reassuring Rick it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for his response.

Daryl decides to pack it up, and leaves with a promise to see Rick the same time tomorrow. When he gets back to the coffee shop, Glenn’s coped with the last of the rush. “Go ok?” He says.  
“Yep.”  
“That all?”  
“Yep.” Daryl’s giving nothing away. Nothing.  
“You going tomorrow?”  
“Maybe.”  
Glenn can’t stop laughing.

The time rolls round to 1pm and Daryl’s out of the door, passing by pedestrians on his way to his bike, to go back to Rick’s apartment.  
Rick looks a lot better when he opens the door. He’s definitely got more color to his skin (which, Daryl reflects, never had much color to begin with) and his eyes seem brighter. He’s still not totally right, but then, after a full day of spewing your guts up and dehydrating, it’s going to take more than a couple of days to recover. “Well, ya look better,” he says as he walks into Rick’ apartment.  
“I feel better,” Rick replies. Daryl hands him his tea and lemon muffin, which Rick grabs at enthusiastically. “I’ve been looking forward to this all morning,” he says, taking the muffin out of the packet and holding it up reverently.  
“Big fan of the muffins, huh?”  
“Exactly.” He takes a bite, “It’s like an orgasm in my mouth,” he says, chewing, then immediately goes red. “Sorry. I just…haven’t had one for a while.”

“A muffin or an orgasm?” Daryl can’t help saying, then bites his own tongue as punishment for it seemingly having a mind of its own.  
Rick just smiles shyly. Daryl smiles too, liking the fact that Rick has let his guard down somewhat. He’s usually this reserved character than merely asks for coffee and sits in the coffee shop looking all hot, chatting politely. Daryl’s never seen him like this before and he likes it, he likes it a lot. “No worries, it’s cool.”  
“Do you make these yourself?”  
Daryl nods his head, chewing at his lip. “All in tha morning when I first get ta work. Sometimes late night, when I gotta make it tha night before.

Rick takes another bite. “Well, this…this is heaven.” Daryl’s transfixed, staring at Rick as he eats the muffin, watching his neck as he swallows down. What he wouldn’t give to just step lean right over and lick all the way up to his jawline, making him moan in appreciation.  
Daryl must have been staring for a while, because he suddenly hears Rick call his name, and he finds that Rick has finished his muffin. He shakes himself. “Sorry, just a little, distracted.”  
Rick cocks his head to the side and ‘hmms’ in contemplation. “Busy day?”

“Yeah, kinda. Always picks up on a Wednesday, then it jus’ gets worse until Friday’s over.”

Rick nods. “I imagine you work very hard, especially as it’s your own business.”  
“Yeah, well, I try. It’s either that or go back to my brother and work in an auto shop. Don’t wanna do that.”

“Must have been a very brave decision to make, to start out on your own,” Rick says, setting his cup down. “I sometimes wish I had had the guts to what I wanted instead of following the family.”

“Oh right. But ya have ta do this,” Daryl motions around the apartment. “I mean, not ta butt into yer private life but ya gotta get good money, right?”

Rick nods. “I do, yes. But you know, money’s not everything. There’s more to life, like friends, relationships, happiness.” He sounds almost wistful.

“Yeah well, I got the friends at any rate. The relationship and the happiness are pretty absent at tha moment.” Daryl’s staring again, he knows he is. But there’s a crumb stuck to Rick’s top lip that he just wants to lick off, and he can’t help but lick his own lips at the contemplation.

He snaps out of it, and Daryl realizes it’s time to go. He promises to return tomorrow, and as he leaves, Rick takes hold of his hand. “Thank you,” he says, holding it just a beat too long.  
When Daryl gets to his car, he finds his hand is hot, still tingling from where Rick touched it.

Thursday passes much the same as Wednesday did. Daryl once again goes to Rick’s apartment, taking some tea and a white chocolate chip cookie that he thought Rick would like. Rick definitely did like it, a lot judging by the noises he made which went straight to Daryl’s crotch, so much so that he had to excuse himself and sit in Rick’s plush, black-tiled and mirrored bathroom while he calmed his dick down. When he left, he noticed Rick standing a little closer, lingering a little longer this time before they said their goodbyes. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he saw something in Rick’s eyes, that spark of attraction and lust, the kind of blown pupils a person gets when they want to lick someone all over.

Friday comes, and Daryl’s extra vigilant this time when he sees Rick. He takes him his usual tea, but Daryl’s given him a carrot cake to try, so he takes Rick a slice. It’s customer research, he tells himself. Rick is looking better, so much better when he opens the door, and Daryl can’t help but gasp. He’s dressed in a casual t-shirt that’s just a little too short and rides up, and jeans hanging low off his slim hips, so he can see Rick’s tummy hair leading down further, and Daryl’s mesmerized when he moves, revealing a little happy trail that no doubt turns into soft black curls around his crotch area.

“Daryl?”  
“What?” Daryl shakes himself, wondering just how long he’s been staring.  
“Are you coming in?”  
“Yes, yes. Sorry man. Long mornin’.” He lies, and Rick chuckles. Daryl steps into the apartment, noticing that it’s been given a thorough clean since his last visit. “Had the cleaner in?” He asks nonchalantly.  
“Oh, no. I do it myself. I quite like cleaning in a way; it gives me time to think about things.”  
“Lots of things on your mind?”  
Rick turns to him and smiles. “You coul’ say that, yeah.” He eyes the package in Daryl’s hand. “So, what delight have you bought me today?”  
“Carrot cake.”  
Rick’s eyes immediately widen. “Carrot cake? Really?”  
“Ye…hey!” Before Daryl can finish, Rick’s practically snatched the bag out of his hand and is examining the contents. He then looks at Daryl and goes red all of a sudden.  
“Sorry, that was really rude. I’m sorry. It’s just…I love carrot cake. Is this a new line you’re adding?”  
It is now, Daryl thinks. “Yeah. I’ve been tryin’ different things.”  
Rick takes the slice out of its plastic wrapper and bites off a piece. The resulting deep throated moan goes straight to Daryl’s dick, and he bites his lip to prevent himself moaning too. “Taste good?” he manages.

“You have to try this.” Rick breaks off a piece, but instead of handing it to Daryl, he comes closer, raising his hand towards his mouth. Daryl opens automatically and Rick puts the cake inside, watching him intently. Daryl chews, and swallows. “That’s really good,” he says, trying not to boast himself and refrain from ego.  
“It is. It really is.” Rick nods.

They sit down and talk again, only this time, Daryl notices that Rick shifts closer to him on the couch, almost so their knees are touching. If it were anyone else Daryl would probably feel uneasy but with Rick, it’s comforting. He’s starting to love these lunch time meetings, sitting with Rick and just hearing him speak. And eyeing him up every chance he gets, let’s not forget that.  
It’s nearly two and Daryl has to leave. He gets up off the couch, and bids Rick goodbye. “Before you go, Daryl,” Rick begins, “I need to tell you something.”  
Instantly, Daryl’s heart is in his mouth, but before he has the chance to wonder when he turned into such a girl over this man, Rick continues. “I’m away next week, on business. For the whole week. I don’t really want to go but it’s essential. Anyway, I’d quite like to…to keep in touch with you while I’m away so I wondered…do you want my phone number? I have yours I know, but I thought you could have mine and we could ring each other. When it’s convenient, obviously. I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to but…”  
Daryl’s already pulled his phone out of his pocket and is poised and ready to type in the number. “Yeah, I’d like it Rick.”

Rick gives him his number, then Daryl realizes with a pang of regret that it’s really time to go. Rick walks him to the door and he turns to say goodbye but Rick’s close, really close, and he smells like he just got out of the shower. Daryl can’t help but tilt his head down, moving forwards slowly. Rick does the same and they’re so close. Thoughts are whirring through Daryl’s head like ‘finally!’ and ‘about freaking time!’ and he gears himself up for what he knows will be a mind blowing kiss, when Rick’s telephone rings loudly and shrilly, making them jump. They both stumble back, Rick mumbling, “Sorry,” while Daryl tells him he’ll speak to him soon.

He steps out of the apartment and walks to the elevator, leaning up against the cool metal wall and breathing heavily. He can’t help smiling though, at the thought that he and Rick nearly kissed. It just proves it’s only a matter of time, that Rick is totally into this too, and it doesn’t matter that he’s be way out of Daryl’s league because he obviously likes him. They’re going to happen, Daryl knows it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this! I'll update it frequently. This is gonna be a bit of a longer AU rather than the typical coffee shop one shots, but I hope you enjoy!


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